


The Specters We Don't Talk About

by Etched_in_Fire



Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [23]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Angst, Bonding over trauma, Drabble, F/M, Grief, Hugs, I'm tagging this as angst but its angst in both a negative and positive way, In which i dump some of my Krystal family headcanons into a fic, Mourning, Oneshot, nuzzling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: Some things are hard to let go of but it helps to have someone to talk to.
Relationships: Krystal/Fox McCloud
Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/51568
Kudos: 3





	The Specters We Don't Talk About

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place before Star Fox Assault.

When Krystal had been young, her parents had told her that ghosts were not real. Even in their world filled with magic and impossibilities being made possible, there were lines that were drawn. Her elders had taught her in a world full of chaos, even the chaos bent to some rules of order. Nothing was truly as aimless as it seemed. Nothing was inconsequential. ‘Walk the path. Know what is true. All moves in a pattern—woven by fate and the spirits.’ Good enough sentiments but as time had proven to her, the one thing that people do not know is how much they do not know.  
  
Krystal was older now. She realized one very important truth—her parents had lied to her. If there was a pattern to it all, then it was chaotic and made little sense.  
  
There were ghosts everywhere she walked. A soft whisper in the wind that sounded like a voice she had once known. A gander from her peripherals at her own reflection as she got ready each morning in the bathroom, swearing she saw someone else at first. As she walked the Corneria City streets, there were strangers all around her but they carried similar traits to the ones she had known before, back home. Back on Cerinia. It was the subtle things—in the way they carried themselves, in the way they laughed, the slightest details of their faces. Her heart recognized them for fleeting moments before she realized that no. No, they were not those familiar faces from before. They were strangers harboring the semblance of ghosts from a life that felt like a lifetime ago.  
  
And of course there was a melancholy that settled in when she had those moments. Swearing she saw someone from before (‘before’ was how she referred to her time on Cerinia—she could not bear to put it into darker terms than that some days) only for it to be a passing likeness and nothing more. But the vixen had learned fast to wrap up those feelings, keeping them tightly bound to her chest. Surviving meant carrying the burden of remembering. As much as it affected her on a daily basis, Krystal had learned that some things were better left unsaid. So she kept those moments to herself.

It was the hardest around Fox. For such a different upbringing than the one she had, there was much the two shared in common. It made it all too tempting to share her feelings with him but she feared opening that can of worms. Years had passed since Cerinia had fallen and the vixen did not want to burden him with such depressing thoughts. He had enough of his own, she knew. There were times she wondered if he saw his father and mother in places he did not expect. But if he did, those thoughts never surfaced loud enough to garner her attention and she had sworn to never pry. There were some boundaries that did not need to be crossed. Ever.  
  
Yet they were a young couple and as young couples madly in love do, they spent nearly every waking moment with each other. A particularly uneventful Tuesday morning in the depths of space being no exception. Krystal sat in a chair in front of her mirror, brushing through her azure hair as Fox lounged on the bed behind her. He was talking about a mission that had happened years ago, before they met. Usually, she would have paid more attention, but her mind was a wandering, curious beast that day—flitting about thoughts and a rambling internal monologue that went nowhere and yet also everywhere.  
  
“… And then we ended up realizing we’d accidentally gotten hired to swipe the cargo from its rightful owner. Peppy was a mess. Thought he’d had to beg the General for pardons for all of us. But we managed to get the goods loaded back up onto the Great Fox before they could get swiped. Well, Slippy did. Falco, Peppy, and I had to hold the bandits off. Man, Slippy can really lift some heavy stuff when he puts his mind to it. You should’ve seen him after it was all done though. He laid down on the bridge floor for an hour and told us not to bug ‘im unless the ship was gonna go down. Anyways, that was the last time I was on Kew. I hear that warlord’s still around and put bounties on our heads,” Fox was saying, his words sliding in and out of her focus. She watched him roll over onto his side, looking at her with a smirk drawn across his muzzle.  
  
“I’m a wanted man, Krystal. Do you think you can deal with that fact?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” the vixen replied airily, her lack of attention betrayed heavily by the spaced-out tone in her words.  
  
The smile dropped off his face.  
  
“You’ve been kinda quiet today. Everything okay…?”  
  
“Hm?” Krystal asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder. His concern was enough to draw her focus back more sharply. “Oh. I suppose I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Really? You were out like a light from what I remember,” Fox remarked.  
  
She had no counter to that. The vixen turned and looked back at her own reflection, lowering the brush so that it sat limply in her hands tucked into her lap. Somehow the sight of her own eyes was hard to look at but she found herself unable to look away from the forlorn vixen staring back at her. There were no tears shimmering across her turquoise irises—not today, at least. But there was a profound sadness there that even a non-telepath could easily read. She thought about swallowing it down as she had so many other times. After all, grief was a plague, one she would have to fight forever. But unfortunately, it reared its head at the most random of times. 

Krystal tried to manage a smile—a small one, just for him. It was hard. The edges of her lips upturned but it looked more akin to a grimace. She sighed.

“Fox…” her voice was soft. 

If there were words to say, she could not fathom what they were. Where could she have even begun? Sometimes there were feelings that didn’t have words attached to them. Longings that were so deep that they were embedded into every fiber of who she was. It was strange, she realized in that moment, how many thoughts passed through her mind in pure emotion and raw feeling, with words never coming to mind to solidify them. 

“D-did I say something wrong…?” Fox asked and she realized her hands were clutching hard onto the handle of her brush, bringing it to her chest just below the collarbone.

“No!” Krystal said, shaking her head vigorously. “No, it’s not that… You’ve been splendid. Really. You have.”

“Then why do you look so…” Fox began, voice faltering before the last word came out with great uncertainty. “… sad…”

“I…” she paused. “Sometimes, I simply am.”

He sat upright, straightening his posture. His stare was prying and she had to avert her gaze, setting her brush down onto the counter in front of her mirror. Krystal sighed again. Why did a part of her feel guilty? Like she had just ruined a perfectly good moment with her musings?

“It isn’t you. It isn’t the team, either. It’s…” Krystal continued. What was the word she was looking for? “… everything.”  
  
It fit and didn’t at the same time.

“Everything…?” Fox questioned. She detected a hint of hurt in his voice.

“A poor word choice,” the vixen lamented drearily. “I suppose… sometimes, I am reminded of times before.”

Yes, that was better.

“And when I think of then, I think of lighter days and all that has transpired since. It’s a… heavy feeling,” Krystal concluded. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean for this to be brought up. If it’s all the same to you, I would rather we just carry on with our day.”

“Krystal!” Fox reprimanded her gently. “Don’t talk like that. You know you can tell me anything.”

So freely he said it yet dredging up every sorrow she could think of made her feel like she was imprisoned. She smiled a half-smile, directing it to the floor. There were no tears, just a bitterness that haunted the back of her throat, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

“Sometimes, I…”

The words were lodged in her throat by an unseen force. But her mind played them out, forming those feelings into something more concrete.

She saw her little sister, Jideni, in the Cornerian children when they paid the General a visit. Their laughter was bells to her ears as they played, thriving in an innocence she felt alien to. And in the young businessmen that walked by, she saw Zonoca, her eldest sister. Prim and proper, crafted by expert hands so that nothing was out of place. A quiet resolve in their eyes that felt so familiar. Fousa, four years her elder, haunted her peripherals-- that silent sister who had always been her shadow in their youth. And in the mirror, she saw Roci—who had been just two years older than her, with those same eyes as her own. The touch of the brush felt like when she had brushed through Krystal’s hair when they were young—giggling and chatting away like sisters do. 

The scent of alcohol reminded her of Randorn. He tried to hide his drinking from her in those later years but it always clung to his fur like an illness he could not shake. In every grizzled man walking down the street, she saw her father. Older than his years, burdened with the weight of responsibility and politics. In each song, she found herself envisioning how her mother would have sung it—her mother had loved singing, more than anything. Each morning had been heralded by her angelic voice, one that Krystal knew she would never hear again. And that hurt. It hurt deep in her soul.

“I sit here, alive and well. And spirits know we’ve had so many good times together over the last few months. But then I remember…” the vixen paused to allow her voice to stop trembling. “… I remember that not everyone lived to see such days after something so terrible. I feel divided. Like I am not who I was and yet I _must_ be. That past has shaped me but I feel so distant from that girl that fled Cerinia…”  
  
He watched her, that uncertainty replaced by understanding. Fox scooted over slightly on the bed, patting it gently for her to join him. Krystal found herself hesitating out of fear that his touch would cause her to fracture then break into tears. But there was something alluring about the idea of being held. Being enveloped by his warmth. Silently, Krystal joined him on the bed, sitting down with her legs draped off of the side. He put his arm around her and squeezed her slightly.

“I feel stupid,” Krystal admitted with a sorrowful laugh. “Even for bringing this up…”

“Don’t be,” Fox said abruptly.

“Do you ever…” the vixen began then cut herself off. “Sorry. I should not pry like that.”

“Do I ever miss my parents? Yeah,” Fox answered, a vagueness about his voice making him sound emotionless. “Every day.”

“Fox…” Her ears went back.

“I don’t talk about it for Peppy’s sake. I know he’s always thinking about ‘em too,” Fox said, his words accompanied with a lazy shrug. “But I think about them. A lot. What Mom would think of me. If I could beat Dad in an Arwing scrap.”

She slid her arm under his, holding him close. He leaned his head over, bumping it gently with hers. His grip tightened for a moment around her then loosened with a bitter laugh.

“You know, it’s gonna sound stupid but… every now and then, I think I see them around. Usually it’s just someone who looks kinda like them but… It still surprises me every time.”

Krystal felt her chest tighten with emotion. It was hard not to pry into his thoughts. They were loud and so very close. But she kept up that barrier. It was for the best.

“I see,” the vixen commented quietly.

They sat like that for a moment, basking in the silence and in the warmth they were sharing. But that silence was eventually marred by a whisking exhale from Fox. He looked at her, that sad twinkle in his emerald eyes replaced by something undefinable. It was not joyful but it held the same strength. It was… perseverance, she thought to herself. The strength to carry on despite the burdens. Despite the memories.

“Everything changes over time,” Fox said to her. “Even people. You’re not the person you were when you left… your homeworld. You’re not even the person you were when we found you on Sauria. Don’t feel bad about it, Krys. You’re not guilty of anything.”

Pause and then he added.

“Moving on isn’t a crime. Mourning isn’t either.”

There was a part of her that felt something give way in that moment. Maybe it was the guilt of holding on to the things and people she could not save. Maybe it was realizing that living would not spite the dead. 

Krystal wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in tight. She buried her nose into the fur of his nape, nuzzling him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope to write more Frystal soon.
> 
> In case anyone was confused by Krystal's name being very different sounding from her siblings, I headcanon that Krystal isn't actually Krystal's name but an approximation in Lylatian of what her name is. She goes by it to distinguish herself from who she was on Cerinia for coping purposes. And she thinks Krystal sounds nice.


End file.
